


I will buy the flower shop, and you will never be lonely

by beechee



Series: Take My Hand (And Set Me Free) [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, M/M, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-06
Updated: 2014-11-06
Packaged: 2018-02-24 09:54:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2577278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beechee/pseuds/beechee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unapologetic OT4 hair braiding, basically. Background/implied America Chavez/Kate Bishop, but it's not even there enough to warrant a tag. This is the first bit of fluff I have written in three years, so I hope you like it! Title from Fun's The Gambler.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I will buy the flower shop, and you will never be lonely

Natasha first notices Steve eyeing Bucky's hair probably about an hour into their braiding session. She's got a dwindling pile of ragged looking flowers on the floor next to where Bucky sits between her legs, and Steve's been passing her one every time she nudges him ever since Sam brought them in. Bucky's got his head leaned back to help her work, his eyes blissfully closed. Sam's still out back gardening, but it's rare enough that even three of them can carve out time to spend together that all three of them are treasuring the opportunity.

She doesn't say anything for a while, letting her fingers wind the fragile stems into the ever-growing expanse of be-flowered hair while her mind ticks over, but eventually she leans towards Steve and asks "You ever thought about growing your hair out, Rogers? A crown'd look good on you." Her tone is dry enough that it's got to be clear she's teasing and Steve snorts at it, shoots back "I think they'd take the shield back if they caught me in a crown," without missing a beat, but Natasha sees the consideration growing in his eyes and returns to braiding Bucky's hair when she hears him grumble, content for now that she's planted the idea.

***

It's a bit of a ritual for Sam and Steve to meet in the bathroom every other Saturday night to keep their hair trimmed--Sam would as soon have gone to the barber, but Steve has made no bones about being aghast at the concept. They may not be dirt poor, but there are some habits from his early life that he's had no desire to break--and once Sam's seen that Steve knows his way around an electric razor, he gives up his token protests without a fight. They turn up like clockwork, six thirty pm. First, Sam sits on the edge of their bathtub and lets Steve trim up the edges of his hairline, then Steve's steady hands trade out for Sam's even steadier ones, and Sam works his way through keeping an American icon looking sharp.

Steve shows up promptly at six thirty the next time they're due a crop, leans on the bathroom door while he watches Sam hurry towards him, dishtowel still in his hands. "Sorry, man," Sam says "those dishes were hell to get clean." Steve raises an eyebrow. "Sure they were," he agrees. "I know how it is." He can't quite keep the smirk off his face, though, and maybe that ruins the self-righteousness of his tone. Either way Sam grins broad, the sight doing funny things to Steve's heart as usual, and swats at him with the towel. "Get in there, I didn't rush through my dishes to listen to you talk." Steve waggles his eyebrows before he swings into the bathroom, Sam following with the ease of long habit. Sam drops the towel in the laundry hamper and drops to his seated position easily, comfortable in the knowledge that he needn't keep an eye on the exits with Steve in the room to do it for him.

Cutting Sam's hair is as intimate and familiar as it always is, Steve's entire world narrowed down to the buzz of the razor and the careful sounds of their breathing, the curves he glides the razor around almost without need for thought. It's a little dizzying, being this close to someone, being this trusted by someone. It's a lot dizzying, actually, sits in his chest like the ache that used to grow when he couldn't get enough air no matter how he heaved, and it's a feeling he thinks he'd kill to keep. He flips the razor off with a practiced thumb, stops Sam when he moves to rise with a hand on his shoulder.

Sam glances up over his shoulder, concern painting the lines of his face. It wasn't too long ago that Steve might have crumpled into tears at a moment like this, wasn't too long ago that the peace might be shattered by the sheer weight of adjusting to life with nearly everyone you'd known and loved dead. Sam's face is painted with concern, but Steve's smile smooths it away, the hand on Sam's shoulder pushes him down the rim of the tub so that Steve can take a seat next to him, close enough for their shoulders to brush. "I think," Steve says. "I think I might let my hair grow out, a bit. Try something new, you know?" He forces his tone into nonchalance, studies the grouting of the shower tiles while he speaks, like it doesn't matter to him one bit how Sam reacts.

Sam has known him long enough to be able to call that for bullshit from a mile away. He shoves Steve's shoulder with his own, snorts out a breath of air. "All right, but don't think this means you get outta cutting my hair. You can't ask a guy to go back to a barber after you ruin him for it, it just ain't fair." His support goes unspoken, but it couldn't have been clearer had he spelled it out, and Steve grins, shoves him back. "I love you too, asshole."

***

Bucky's taken to keeping his hair back in a ponytail when he's busy, keeps elastics around the wrist of his metal arm in case one snaps, or a thought overtakes him while he's out and about and he needs to gather up his hair so he can gather up his mind, or in case he sees someone who looks like they need one. (Ever since he'd grasped that he owned things he could give away, generous hasn't been a strong enough word to describe him.) He notices Steve's longer hair not even a month after Steve has made the decision to grow it out--Steve knows he's noticed it, because the utilitarian black hairbands adorning Bucky's wrist are joined by brown ones.

He'd only mentioned the appreciation for brown his transformation had left him with once, and when he sees the unspoken truth that Bucky has remembered it, he can't help but crush him into a hug--at first, Bucky is stiff in his arms, more out of shock than anything else, but then he melts into it, wraps his own arms around Steve's shoulders, and it feels a lot like coming home all over again. Never mind that it will be months before Steve needs to use the elastics, never mind that nothing about their surroundings is what he still irrationally expects whenever he sees Bucky's face--this place is the closest thing he's ever had to a home.

***

It's Sam's garden that they pilfer for the flowers for braiding, and every time Sam sees Natasha eyeing it he gives her a warning look that is half joking, half deadly seriousness. None of them pretend that all of Sam's refusal would last more than two seconds if Nat decided she really wanted to get at the flowers, but she never smiles quite so big as when she's pretending innocence at Sam, and so they all allow the charade to continue, with smiles of their own twitching at their lips.

So--it's a surprise when Bucky and Nat stumble back in from a private date that had included two diners, a gym, and a firing range to find the living room overflowing with flowers, and a proud Sam and Steve all but buried in them. By now, Steve's hair is kept in a modest little tail at the nape of his neck, and Sam's cut isn't as tight as it once was--Natasha takes one look at the living room and orders "Don't move," before dragging Bucky off to clean up.

They emerge from the shower fully clothed in record time, and then Nat has the living room organized in a heartbeat--Steve sits on the ground between her legs, Bucky between Sam's, and Sam and Nat pluck flowers from a pile between them on the couch as they braid. The sunlight dapples over the flowers, over Steve and Bucky's faces where they sit with their eyes closed and faces smooth, twin pictures of contentment. Sam's face is a mask of concentration, but Natasha looks almost as relaxed as Steve or Bucky, and she hums a little tune as she works, happy as anything.

***

It's mid-evening when Clint's phone buzzes--it's snapchat, he's got a new chat from flyer99. Cautiously, he presses it, and a picture of Natasha, Steve, and Bucky with flowers dotted throughout their sloppily braided hair appears onscreen. The caption reads "Next time we're getting Sam in on the braiding too." he can't help but shake his head at the ridiculousness, locking his phone screen as his door bangs open and Lucky's barking fills the apartment. "So there's this thing I think I need to try," Kate announces, without so much as a 'Clint, hey, I brought your dog back,', shoving the door shut behind her with a kick. "And I need you to help me collect the flowers so I can surprise America."


End file.
